


"my kitty"

by maximized (florfering)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Cat Connor, F/M, Ken Doll Android Anatomy | Androids Have No Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), Master/Pet, Petplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17059145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florfering/pseuds/maximized
Summary: “Have you been a good kitty?”Connor nods. Slowly, precisely.“Show me.”





	"my kitty"

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINALLY FOR MY GOOD FRIEND MICHAEL now you know my nsfw ao3 mikey LMAO but yeah its been,..,, such a long time since i worked on this (google says last edit date was july 22 yEAH SUPER OLD) so i thought why the hell not i'll post it uwu 
> 
> merry christmas rarepairers this one's for yall who are the strongest people i know

Connor is waiting. 

He flicks his tail. 

Connor is waiting. 

He runs a scan on the room again, noting the stain on the wall _(Coffee, black, 2 grams of sugar)_ for the fifty-sixth time. 

Connor is waiting. 

He thinks that if he were human, his legs would be sore from him resting his weight on them for one hour, thirty-four minutes, and twenty-nine seconds. 

Connor is waiting. 

He flicks his tail again, focusing on how the movement flows through the synthetic muscle fibers. 

Connor is—

The door opens. Connor doesn’t move, staring straight ahead in the same position he was left in one hour, thirty-five minutes, and seventeen seconds ago. The light from the hallway now illuminating the room shows the shadow of a person—approximately five foot four inches _(one hundred, sixty-two centimeters)_ , a slim build, wearing a thick jacket. 

“I'm back,” she says, finally stepping into the room. He doesn’t move. Out of the peripheral of his vision, he can see her hang her jacket up, then sit in a chair. She directs her attention toward him and he flicks his eyes back directly in front of him. 

“Have you been a good kitty?” 

Connor nods. Slowly, precisely. 

“Show me.” 

Connor unfolds his legs, the bell on his collar tinkling cheerfully, and leans to put balled up fists on the ground, keeping his eyes trained on the carpet _(Tuscan texture, polyester fabric, polypropylene backing)_. Swaying his tail back and forth, he crawls over to where North sits, one leg crossed over the other. When he’s less than a foot away from her, she pushes a shoe under his chin, forces his face up. She studies him, eyes narrowed.

“Paw.” 

He springs his front half up so that his chest is resting on her legs, his fists on her lap. She recoils in surprise, but quickly recovers.

“I said paw, not half your fucking body.”

Connor tilts his head, an ear twitching in mock confusion. He forces his LED yellow and offers her his hand. 

She grins and rolls her eyes. “Touché. But you'll regret that later.” Connor feels an involuntary shiver roll through him at the implication but refocuses back on her. The artificial skin of his extended hand melts away as he uncurls his fingers. North mirrors him. She clasps his hand and the onslaught of memories show him _her driving, waiting, Markus is smiling for once, teasing her, she’s too impatient, she can't seem to focus on Simon’s story, her kitty is so beautiful, “Excited?”, “You bet your ass.”_

North removes her hand, cutting off the influx of images and emotion abruptly. Approval lines her smug smile. “Good kitty.” She gently pushes him off her lap. “And good kitties get treats.” 

Connor’s ears perk up and she stifles a giggle at his eagerness, instead settling down on the bed and patting the spot next to her. “Come join me, my darling kitty.” Connor jumps up to the foot of the bed in one smooth motion. He crawls over to her again and pushes his head into one of her hands. 

“No scratches, but I have something better.” She slides her hand down from the top of his head, trailing the pads of her fingers down his back. She finds the port at the base of his spine with ease, lightly tracing its outline with a single nail. Connor turns his sensitivities up and gasps at the intensified feeling. It’s so light, and yet it’s all he can focus on. 

“Do you want me to go in?” 

He nods vigorously. 

She pulls her hand away. “Then, beg.”

“Wha—?” He starts, but North quickly shushes him. 

“Kitties don't talk. _Show_ me how much you want it.” 

And suddenly Connor gets it. He feels something drop in his stomach in what could be embarrassment, but it isn't coded in him to be able to feel such an emotion. An effect of his evolving and empathizing AI, then. 

But, nonetheless, Connor shuffles so that he's facing away from her and folds his arms in front of him, leaning his head on his forearms and kneeling so that his ass is raised. He can feel the skin of his back get warm, and it's a foreign feeling. He doesn't know what to make of it. Instead of dwelling on it, he catalogs it to examine later and drops his head, staring at the bedsheets _(quilted, machine stitched, cotton)_. North doesn't show any indication of satisfaction yet, so he moves his hips, wiggling them left and right. 

North trails a couple fingers along the dip of his lower back. “Such a gorgeous kitty,” she murmurs. Leaning up so that her chest hugs his back and her breasts compress against it, she drags her nails across his stomach and he can feel the burn for a couple of seconds before it fades. She moves to mouth at the junction of his shoulder and neck and he lets his eyes fall shut, exhaling a stuttering sigh at the sensation. 

“I wonder how much prettier you’ll be when you cry,” she whispers, breath ghosting against his ear. He knows, now—what she’s planning. She slides both hands down the length of his torso—painstakingly slowly—feeling every dip and bump of his body. 

“Can you cry for me, pretty kitty?”

Connor squeezes his eyes, shaking his head. He doesn’t know how to ask her for what he wants, convey his needs.

“Do you need help?”

He nods, glad that she understands him so well. She smiles against his skin, pressing a light kiss right behind his ear. 

“I'll help you, my kitty.”

The way she says _‘my kitty’_ , states her irrefutable ownership of him—it brings shivers of anticipation and _fear_ through Connor’s system. An error message appears in his field of vision but he quickly dismisses it, then takes a second to change his settings, preventing future ones from appearing for now. 

She moves back so he can adjust, but her hands still linger on him as if she doesn’t want to remove them. As he rearranges himself so that he’s lying face up, she settles between his legs and rubs his thighs. The gesture comforts him. 

Connor brings his hands to his face, curled up in paws, and twists his body in a manner not unlike a cat presenting its belly to a trusted owner. North smiles at him, but only continues to massage. 

She’s not satisfied. 

A pitiful _‘meow’_ escapes him, high pitched and whining. 

North’s smile grows predatory and Connor can feel the erratic beat of his thirium pump now, pulsing through the tips of his fingers and toes. While scooting up so that she sits on his crotch, 

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY FOR THE ABRUPT END again im just,..,,.WHO KNOWS IF ILL WORK ON THIS AGAIN,.,.., f to the fics ill never finish


End file.
